Winter Gods
by avearia
Summary: The Guardians discover that, outside of Earth, many races actually worship Jack as a God. Meanwhile, the Avengers deal with the implications that come with an almighty spirit, otherworldly religions, and the revalation that Santa is real.
1. Santa Claus is Comin to Town

**Winter Gods**

_Avengers and ROTG. These two fandoms go together surprisingly well! _

_Anyway. This is a response to a challenge on the ROTG Kink Meme. Basically, the OP, nike, prompted this: "So I want a fic where everyone outside of Midgard/Earth thinks Jack is a god. Not an Asgardian pretending to be a god, but a honest-to-god god." _

_This is the response. I took the idea and ran with it. This is a multi-chapter fic that will most likely be about 10 chapters long. I posted this a month ago, but have only just been getting back around to it thanks to some IRL trouble. Sorry for the wait, those who found this fic early on! I think I've got all my fanfiction ducks-in-a-row now. _

_Reviews are welcome, critique encouraged. So, please read on, and I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

Ch. 1 – **Santa Claus is Comin' to Town**

It is not the weirdest conversation he's ever had with Thor, but it is perhaps the funniest.

"So you mean to tell me," Thor begins, eyes furrowed and perplexed. "That this… _Santa _figure… stalks the younglings of Midgard all year."

"Yes," Tony nods, trying to hide his amusement. _He sees you when you're sleeping… _

"And this… man?" Thor casts an unsure glance to Bruce, who is trying—failing—to keep a straight face. Banner just nods in confirmation, and Thor continues. "…Judges on their behavior."

_He knows if you've been bad or good—_

"Right." Tony says patiently.

Thor shifts his weight, looking between the stoic Tony and the not-so-stoic Bruce. He's suspicious, and it's clearly Bruce's fault for not keeping a straight face, but he continues on anyway. "If their behavior that is deemed satisfactory, the young ones receive rewards…"

"Naturally," Tony says. His casual manner makes Bruce snort back laughter.

Thor finishes with, "And if their behavior is irredeemable, he threatens them with death?"

And there it is, the moment Tony's been waiting for. The moment when the conversation goes completely off the rails.

Bruce finally breaks down and turns away, whole body shaking with silent laughter. He crosses his arms and clamps a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in. The laughter bubbles out anyway, and Tony enjoys it. The man is always so careful and contained; it's good to see him loosen up and laugh once in a while.

"W-what?" Bruce finally manages, after catching his breath.

Thor looks positively uncomfortable. Pulling out the music lyrics Tony lent him, Thor reads aloud, "…_So be good for goodness' sake_? Is this not a threat?"

"Oh," is all Bruce can say, a new wave of laughter in his lips. "…_Oh. _No, no, Thor, it's—_no._"

"Though that would be a good way to encourage better behavior out of kids," Tony adds offhandedly, making Bruce look down and grin.

"If that was how it worked, you wouldn't have made it past age three," Bruce comments. He takes a deep breath, finally regaining his composure. Brushing a stray curl back in place, he turns back to Thor. "No, Thor—naughty kids just don't get presents. Or they get coal in their stocking on Christmas."

"A fair judge," Thor says at last, crossing his arms over his chest. "And a generous ring-giver. Although coal does not seem like much of a punishment. So this Christmas—when is it?"

"Tomorrow," Bruce answers, and Tony does a double take.

"—Wait, wait. Are you sure?"

Bruce casts a wary glance at his teammate. "Tony. Today's the 24th."

He checks his watch and, lo and behold, it is tomorrow, not next week like he'd thought. Time sure flies when you're tinkering on making advancements to your crime-fighting technology.

"You forgot to go shopping, didn't you."

Tony just shrugs at Bruce's accusation. "I can always just… go… make something."

"Tony, No." Bruce says flatly, like he is scolding a bad puppy. Bad Tony. No.

"What, you don't think Pepper would like a handheld missile launcher?"

"Tony. _No."_

"Will Santa not present Pepper with a proper treasure?" Thor cuts in, confused. "Her behavior has been most exemplary, I would assume."

"Ah—no, Thor, uh…" Bruce is distracted by the question, leaving Tony off scott-free. "…Santa's gifts are typically reserved for children."

"Hm. I—see." Thor looks doubtful. "So he rewards all good children in the world… overnight?" Bruce nods. "How does he carry and deliver the presents?"

Without missing a beat, Tony cuts into the conversation, sweeping his arms wide. "First, his magic elves make all the necessary toys—millions of toys, mind you," he feels the need to add. "Then he stuffs them all into a magical sack about the size of a kitchen chair, and loads them onto his sleigh."

From the skeptical look on Thor's face, Tony can tell he's not buying a word of it.

"From there," Tony continues, voice extravagant, "He gets his eight flying reindeer—and Rudolph—to fly him all over the world to every house on Earth. He lands on the rooftops and slides down the chimney and puts the presents next to the Christmas tree."

Thor looks downright dubious. "And this Santa—he is a tiny man?" The demigod holds his thumb and forefinger apart to demonstrate. "To fit down the chimney?"

"No, Santa's about my height, maybe taller," Tony answers. "A jolly, portly, bearded man…"

"Now I know you are just testing me," Thor interrupts, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "This tale makes no sense. I have seen reindeer, they do not fly. Midgard does not yet have dimensional technology to make the sack you described, and even if he were small enough to fit down a chimney—which he is not, you say—then he could not carry such a heavy thing to deliver the presents. And he visits every child in every household in one night? How is this possible?"

Tony stops for a moment, eyebrows kicking up in surprise. Thor does not usually catch on to Tony's games this quickly.

And maybe Tony is a little impressed with how Thor can spot the flawed logic from a mile away, despite just being introduced to the concept. Thor is sharper than most people give him credit for.

Tony likes keeping up the act, though, and so doesn't concede to the question. "Oh you know. All things are just so _magical _at this time of year," Tony insists, trying to tease Thor back into the game. "Christmas cheer, holiday joy, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, all that."

It is downright startling how quickly the skepticism slides off Thor's face. The demigod stands stiffly, suddenly dead serious. "Jokul Frosti takes part in the ritual of Christmas?" he demands, his stare boring intensely into Tony's eyes.

He takes a step back—but only because he enjoys his personal space—all while puzzling over Thor's behavior. He thought the demigod would pick up on the magic, or the ritual, or—"How can you not know about _Santa _but be familiar with something as obscure as _Jack Frost_?" he asks, trying to find the logic. Even most humans didn't know about him. Nowdays, that name is more of a saying than a myth.

"Jack Frost's myth originates from Norse Mythology," Bruce murmurs his answer, but his eyes are perplexed. He's studying Thor's face, sensing something amiss. "Jokul Frosti. I think—a lesser God? An ice elf? It's an obscure myth."

"Originates?" Thor scoffs at Bruce's answer—in fact, he seems downright offended by it. "…_Lesser _God? Blasphemy."

"Sorry, is he a friend of yours?" Tony asks, tilting his head.

Thor stands proudly, like he is about to give his _you-shall-honor-my-customs _spiel. "Friend? He is my _God. _On Asgard, we set aside a feast day on High Winter for his worship."

Bruce and Tony are staring, sputtering at the thought that actual-god Thor worshiped someone _else_. Especially if that God is someone as obscure as Jack Frost.

Both Tony and Bruce would later regret not asking Thor to elaborate. Now, though, they only stare, dumbstruck, until Thor straightens with a nod. "If Jokul Frosti participates in your Christmas Ritual, then clearly it is important. I must prepare—I have not gathered any of the necessary materials. Where can I procure a Tree of Christmas?"

"…Uh…" Bruce says with a slow blink.

Thor strides to the door, scolding himself. "No—that is folly. Surely there is more to the ritual than erecting a tree. I will get Jane Foster to guide me through the proper steps. Or Hawkeye, if she is busy. And you—" He turns to point a demanding finger at Tony. "You will not dishonor The God of Winter. If Christmas requires you to obtain a gift for Pepper, then do so. Angering Jokul Frosti is highly unwise."

And with that, he's gone. The two scientists are left standing, baffled, in his wake.

"That went better than I expected," Tony says finally, immensely pleased at himself.

"That was… odd," Bruce mutters to himself, and turns his head away from the door. "You do know he's going to be disappointed come tomorrow morning when there are no presents from Santa," he points out. "And I highly doubt you're intending to play the role of Saint Nick, since you haven't even gotten a present for your _wife._"

"Nonsense. You warned Thor that Santa only brought things for children. He won't be expecting anything." Tony replies, clapping his hands together and turning back to what he'd been doing before the interruption—tinkering with his computer screens.

"Still wasn't nice," says Bruce. "You could've at least told him Santa wasn't real. The others are going to tease him relentlessly about that." True - Thor already seems plenty mixed up on the subject of Jack Frost.

"Hey, all I'm saying is, the tower could use some Christmas cheer," Tony says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "And _I _just got someone else to decorate it for me."

"…Ah."

"Besides," Tony shrugs as he reaches for a nearby tool. "It's the guy's first Christmas, right? He should enjoy it—and what's a traditional X-mas without good ol' Saint Nick? Just watch, he'll enjoy himself. It's harmless."

Bruce finally sighs and gives in. He isn't one to pursue arguments, especially not with Tony. Before he can turn away, though, Tony chips in one last quip –

"Oh, and by the way, I'll be taking pictures all evening." He flaunts his phone in the air, sounding pleased. "Would you like some copies when I'm done? They'll be _great _blackmail material." And once again, Bruce devolves into a fit of laughter.

It's going to be an interesting Christmas Eve.

* * *

The photo opportunities do indeed prove spectacular. About an hour after the conversation, Thor returns to the tower with an oversized evergreen tree that he proudly uprooted himself. It's a challenge, setting that gigantic thing up around the fake fireplace, but well worth the trouble.

The rest of the night is spent in, as Thor calls it, "Merriment." Somehow, all the Avengers wind up getting involved. Thor conducts the whole operation, decorating the tree and hanging the stockings and frosting Christmas cookies with Steve. All the while, he sings Christmas carols as though they were tavern drinking songs, belting out the lyrics with such vigor that he almost breaks the chandelier.

Tony, gleeful, documents it all. By the night's end, he's got enough pictures and video to fill an entire photo album.

After Clint mistakenly tells Thor that in his childhood, he stayed up late every 24th to see Santa, Thor gets it into his head that he also must participate in the "Christmas Vigil," and sets up by the tree to wait. He even writes Santa a letter, though it ends up being more about _Jokul Frosti _than Christmas.

Come morning, he's still there. Tony sneaks in to add his presents to the stockpile at the base of the tree and confirms it… the big man is sound asleep. When Tony finds him there, stretched along the length of the couch—barefoot, clad in cloud pajamas, with a teddy bear tucked beneath his arm—Tony can't resist the temptation to pull out his phone for just_ one _morepicture.

Soon after, though, his good mood is dashed. When he kneels next to the tree to put his presents down, another present's tag catches his eye.

"To Clint… from Santa?" Tony picks it up and squints. Okay. That's weird.

He sifts through the other presents; there seems to be twice as many as before. To Natasha, from Santa. To Steve, from Santa. To Bruce, To Thor, To Tony—_To Tony from Santa?!_

Okay, no one's gonna believe _that_.

It's perplexing, but doesn't worry too much at first. He figures one of the others must've taken pity on Thor and added a few more presents beneath the tree. Something about that explanation seems off, but it's an ungodly hour to be awake, so he doesn't think too hard on the subject – until later on as they're all gathered around the tree, and Tony sees them all absolutely bewildered at the additional presents. Though no one mentions it, their faces are clear; none of them were responsible.

Well, maybe Natasha. She's a brilliant actor. Or maybe Fury snuck in overnight?…

Tony wants to ask, but doesn't, because… well, Thor. He's just so pleased with himself. Upon waking, the Asgardian was so overcome with excitement that he raced through the halls like a little kid, waking everyone up to declare that _yes, _the man called Santa had indeed come, accepted the cookies, left the presents, and taken his letter to Jokul Frosti with him. Upon reaching Tony's room, he shook his hand, apologized profusely for ever doubting him, and giddily demanded that he come down to open the mysterious gifts.

It was as if the man was under some enchantment of wonder and joy. As Tony watches Thor unwrap yet another gift – a whole collection of Disney princess movies – he decides not to bring it up. Thor's mood is just too good to spoil.

So Tony goes about his day, adding more pictures to his collection as the morning wears on. In the back of his mind, though, he sets a firm resolution. The signs are all too clear. Against all odds, someone had broken through JARVIS's security system.

And Tony is determined to find out who.


	2. Dear Santa

_Woah, that's… woah. I mean, I knew this was a fun prompt, but I never expected such an overwhelmingly positive response—91 reviews, 200 favorites and 286 follows! A big thank you to all who read, reviewed, and liked the story. I'm going to try to respond to all those reviews now, if I can. _

_As for this chapter—I'm not sure why it was so hard to write. I literally have 12 different versions of this chapter on my computer and none of them feel quite right. But it's been __**far **__too long since an update, so I chose to post the one I like the best. I still feel like it could be improved (critique welcome!) but the story needs to move on. Chapter 3 is coming along nicely, and should be up by next week, so… not sure why I had such terrible writer's block. Chapter 2 just didn't want to be written. _

_So, thanks for Cupcakereaper for proofreading this. Also, shoutout to reviewers LadyArtemis13, XXXHells Angel of deathXXX, Megalograptus, and Utasaki N for picking up on the next plot point. Well done! _

_Anyway, Thanks again to all my readers, and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Dear Santa**

All things considered, Stark Tower is far easier to infiltrate than Nicholas St. North expected.

Late on Christmas Eve, when he lands his sleigh on the flat, snowy roof of Stark Tower, North discovers that the rumors he's heard about the Avenger's security are wildly false. There are no booby traps, no force fields, no eyeball scanners. Quite frankly, North is a little disappointed. Dodging a laser death trap—now _that _would have been an adventure! Instead, when North arrives, he finds a typical high-end security system.

Electronic locks? Laser trip wires? Bah. North has seen worse. He's been sneaking into high tech strongholds for five centuries, infiltrating everything from the White House to Area 51, so he knows his way around a couple fancy gadgets.

Granted, the computer systems are the most fascinating thing North has seen in a good long while. The programming code is genius, and the way the system spans the entire length of the tower, built like a human's brain and neural net? Fascinating. Given the chance, he would love to stick around, poke at all the oddities and mysteries and creative baubles Stark programmed into it. But, North's got a schedule to keep, and far more presents to deliver before the night is up, so his curiosity will have to wait.

He disables the alarms in under ten seconds. Manually, it would've taken longer, but no human security system can hold its weight against magic. The security cameras, North ignores; non-believers like Tony won't be able to see him on tape anyway.

And Tony's famed AI, JARVIS, which North thought would be the biggest hurdle of all?

"Hello, Master Santa. Welcome to Stark Tower, how may I be of assistance?"

Well.

"Um—" North pauses, blinks, shrugs, and continues. He's seen weirder. "Hello! You must be Jarvis."

"Indeed, sir." The dry yet unfailingly polite voice asks him, sounding from a speaker above.

"…Interesting." North had expected the AI to raise the alarm like a guard dog, but apparently that is not the case. Jarvis seems rather well versed in the concept of 'Santa' and is completely unconcerned by North's presence.

North readjusts the sack of toys on his back. It's a smaller version of the one he's transporting on his sleigh. Delivering toys worldwide is a difficult task—for efficiency's sake, North packs all the toys he needs to deliver to each town or neighborhood into one sack, then packs all the sacks into a bigger sack, which is loaded onto his sleigh. Currently, the sack he is holding—labeled _Manhattan_—is nearly empty, because he is on his last stop before moving on to Jersey. Still, a mansion full of superheroes means a lot of presents. The sack is quite heavy, and North cannot wait to drop them off.

If Jarvis is offering its to help, why not take advantage of it? "So, Jarvis. I am here to deliver presents—Can you tell me, where is the tree, and stockings?" he asks.

_Whrrrr_click! A circular pattern appears on a nearby transparent computer screen, and focuses like a camera lens. On the floor, emergency lights illuminate, leading a trail across the hallway to a staircase. "Of course, Right this way, Master Santa."

North resettles his grip on the bag and follows. "You may call me North, if you wish."

"Understood, Master North."

Jarvis leads North down the stairs, through a spacious room, and into another darkened hallway. North memorizes the way back just in case, but judging by Jarvis's unexpectedly polite behavior, an escape route won't be necessary.

Perhaps, North muses, if he asks _politely_ enough, Jarvis will activate some of the security measures? Just enough to create an exciting escape attempt. Nothing big. Some alarms, a few bolted doors, a flamethrower or two—wait, no. This is starting to sound like a bad idea. Focus.

Jarvis leads him into an open, lounge-like room, decorated with furniture of all shapes and sizes. A large person is stretched along the length of the couch, nearly falling off the cushions. North makes a mental note to talk and move quietly, as to not wake the man.

Beyond the sofa, a comically large tree is crammed into the corner by the fireplace, hastily decorated with homemade bulbs, LED lights, half-eaten popcorn garlands, and a paper star taped to the top. Presents, in various states of wrapping, lay underneath.

"Please excuse the mess," Jarvis says, volume lowered presumably to avoid waking the man on the couch. "I regret to say, Christmas preparations were put together rather hastily. As usual, Tony put things off until the last minute. Speaking of—I have heard of your work in robotics. Legendary among other AI. Shall I wake Tony? I am sure he would be interested in meeting you."

Interesting. So Jarvis has heard of North's ability to combine human machines and immortal magic. But where had he gotten that information? Tony certainly wouldn't have programmed it in. Perhaps Jarvis's AI is not so "artificial" after all.

North gives a bemused grin. "While that is nice offer—is a tad impossible, Da?" he asks the computer. Given Tony's legendary skepticism, he doubts the human believes in _any_ spirit, much less 'Santa'.

"I suppose you do have a schedule to keep." Jarvis concedes. "As you wish. I will leave you to put the presents beneath the tree. You will find the five stockings hung over the fireplace."

Five? "You mean six." North corrects.

"…Ah. So Tony _did_ make your list, then? How unusual." Jarvis replied after a moment of calculation. "…First time ever, if my memory card serves. What's the occasion?"

North moves to put the presents beneath the oversized Christmas Tree and stops. It's a fair question—This is the first year Tony Stark has ever qualified for the nice list. After all these years, it seems highly unlikely for the man to earn a visit from Santa.

There's also the fact that North rarely delivers presents to adults, but that's another matter entirely.

North only laughs quietly in response. "Well, is special occasion, don't you think?" he asks. "Heroes who save Earth from alien invasion deserve to be on nice list, yes?"

"I suppose," Jarvis says after a moment with a sigh. "…But you are aware that Tony booby trapped Nick Fury's helicarrier last week?"

Oh yes. North is very much aware.

"Tony is—no saint." North admits carefully, remembering when he read about the helicarrier incident on his Naughty-Nice list (the incident had been classified under the label of "utter chaos".) "His pranks make it a close call. But—he did make nice list. Barely." If only because North fudged the record a little bit. Or a lot. All the other Avengers made the nice list, so North was feeling remarkably generous.

Next year, though—_next _year, North vows to give Tony no slack.

"I suppose you know best," Jarvis concedes. "…At least the others will be happy to see you came. Actually, it may interest you to know that Master Odinson penned you a letter. It seems he was expecting your arrival."

North blinks. "Master… Odinson?" he asks, and looks over his shoulder. Jarvis must be speaking of the man on the couch.

In the quiet room, Jarvis's machinery makes a faint _whrrrr_click! A dim light appears, illuminating the large, sleeping figure stretched along the couch. Beside him, on the end table, there is a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a neatly folded paper propped up between them.

"Master Odinson was very eager to meet you. It's his first Christmas, I believe. Regretfully, it seems the Christmas preparations… wore him out a bit." Perhaps that's an understatement. North can hear the man's faint snoring from all the way across the room.

North smiles. "Thank you, Jarvis. That is helpful," he says.

"You are welcome, sir," says Jarvis, and the light flicks off with another _whrrrr_click. "If you need anything else, just ask. I will set the alarm system to reactivate two minutes after your departure." North nods and turns back to arranging the presents beneath the Christmas tree, and Jarvis adds—

"Oh. And, when you leave… if you could, ah, _discourage _your companion from attempting to frost the heated windows, it would be much appreciated. The ice is hard on my machinery."

North suppresses a laugh and glances over to the window, just in time to see an intricate frost pattern evaporating into dew drops. He grins. Ah, Jack. The young winter spirit is supposed to be guarding the sleigh, but Jack has always been easily distracted. "I will tell him," North assures Jarvis with a chuckle.

"Thank you sir." With a faint _whrrrr_click, Jarvis is gone.

North shakes his head with a smile and focuses on finishing his job. Once he arranges all the presents beneath the tree and stuffs all the stockings—yes, all six, even Tony's—he stands and brushes himself off. Carefully, North picks his way through the dark room, walking over to the couch.

Thor Odinson is fast asleep. His large form is stretched haphazardly across the couch, almost too large for his makeshift bed. Up close, it is clear the man is a formidable warrior; he bears the scars and muscle tone of a fighter. Despite these details, his snores, sprawling limbs, and fluffy bedtime attire are remarkably disarming. Golden sand still swirls above his head, playing out a dream of stars and snowflakes.

North smiles at the scene. He's seen many a child waiting up on Christmas Eve, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa. In the end, despite a valiant effort, they always nod off on the couch, just like this. It's unusual to see an adult so enthralled with Christmas, and for some reason, it warms his heart.

After a moment's thought, North produces a teddy bear from his sack and tucks it under the man's burly arm. The man sighs in his sleep and snuggles the toy closer.

North smiles and turns his attention to the end table.

There is a plate, a cup, and a letter. Milk and cookies—this is a tradition that has always amused North to no end. Over the years, humans had become so accustomed to having a stranger break into their houses on the 24th to leave presents that they'd started leaving midnight snacks and thank-you notes for him before going to bed. To this day, most households still leave North a plate of cookies to eat before moving on; a few houses, like this one, leave letters.

North leans over and gathers the cookies up. He isn't hungry—he's eaten so many cookies already this night that he is absolutely stuffed—but he can't turn down the gift. That would be rude. Instead, he pockets the treats for later.

The letter, North pays closer attention to.

It's an old fashioned thing, hand-written in elegant calligraphy and sealed with wax. It's quite unusual—most letters North gets are written in crayon and punctuated with kindergarten grammar, so the formality of Mr. Odinson's letter is a rare thing to behold.

What really catches North's eye, however, is what's written on the neatly-penned address line:

_To Santa: Concerning Jokul Frosti._

* * *

_A/N:_

_Side note, I have not yet seen Iron Man 3 and this saddens me. Please avoid spoilers for me if you can!  
Reviews welcome, Critique encouraged._

_Next Update: Tuesday May 21_


	3. A Quiet Christmas Eve

_Well, I missed my deadline, my apologies. I wanted to show you all the letter in this chapter, but no matter how I wrangled it around, I couldn't get it done in less than two chapters. I didn't want to be a tease, so… I finished both. I may be late, but you're actually getting 3x as much material now. So! I'm gonna post this transition chapter today, and tomorrow evening, after editing, I can post the chapter you've all been waiting for… where everyone learns what's in Thor's letter. Sound good? _

_Alright, also, new rule for the fic – whenever one of the Guardians mentions a time, it's in American Eastern Standard Time. This is because it's very hard to talk about time when half the characters are scattered across the world. Tooth is half a day ahead of everyone, Bunny's in the lower hemisphere, I'm not sure WHAT timezone North's workshop is in, and don't even get me started on Sandy. They probably all have their own ways of tracking time and keeping schedules, but, let's just assume that, for Jack's benefit, they all run on Burgess-time – so Jack will stop having an excuse for missing/being late for Guardian meetings. ("What? Me, late?" Jack asks, faking innocence. "No, no. You guys are just never clear on the time.")_

_So if someone says "See you tomorrow evening" or "Be here at 3 pm sharp," it's in Burgess-time/Eastern Standard Time. Which, coincidentally, is the exact time the Avengers run on, too. _

_Anyway, Here's Chapter 3. Please read and review. I really appreciate all the reviews I've gotten, by the way, and if I haven't answered your review yet it's because I am a slowpoke and have never gotten this many reviews before, ever. I really have read them all, and I smile every time I see one in my inbox – the feedback is very helpful, and I hope I can continue to entertain you all. Thank you, and happy reading!_

* * *

_._

**A Quiet Christmas Eve**

North finds his way back up to the roof, stepping into the cold midnight air.

The wind rushes to meet him. Its gentle touch swirls about his shoulders, kicking up flurries of snowflakes. It circles North once like an excited puppy before racing back to the sleigh.

And there is Jack, perched atop the high back seat of the sleigh. He is crouched, peering precariously over the skyscraper's edge, a cookie hanging from his mouth.

The wind reaches Jack and swirls about him like an old friend, ruffling his already messy white hair. Jack does not even blink. He is concentrating hard, focusing on the task at hand. His arm is outstretched, pointing the crooked end of his staff at the windows below. Blue magic sparks from the tip of his staff, conjuring layers upon layers of frost to coat the blank, glassy canvas below.

Jack is trying his hardest to frost Stark Tower's heated windows, but to no avail. Each fernlike pattern melts within seconds, leaving only dewdrops behind.

North approaches, chuckling. "Bored already, Jack?"

Surprised, Jack's arm jerks and he accidentally dips forward, nearly falling off the back of the sleigh.

Quickly, Jack catches and rights himself, laughing in surprise. He slowly swings around to face North, the panicked tension ebbing from his shoulders. Jack leans on his staff, takes the cookie from his mouth, and turns a shining smile on the one who surprised him.

"North, you're back," Jack says, his voice playful. "…So soon? I didn't hear a single explosion."

North just grins. "Ah, job was not nearly as tough as expected," he answers, starting forward. He stops by a restless reindeer to adjust the beast's harness, which is slightly askew.

Jack shrugs and looks down the skyscraper's edge, a glint of interest in his eyes. "Sorry for slacking off. It's just—did you know the windows are heated? That is _fancy._ My frost won't even stick. I don't know whether to be insulted or impressed."

"Ah, that. You should stop frosting windows—it bothers Jarvis." North explains, climbing into the sleigh with a groan. His joints are creaking from the long night's work. Maybe he's getting too old for this.

Jack tilts his head. "Uh… who's Jarvis?"

"The Avenger's AI. Lives in the tower."

Jack gives him an odd look. "Wait—wait, you mean the Avengers have, like, a _Hal_ or a _GlaDOS _guarding their tower?" he asks, and though North doesn't know precisely what pop culture reference the boy is referring to, he nods anyway. Jack's eyes light up. "That's so cool! How'd you get past it?"

"Asked nicely."

A pause. Jack blinks. "No seriously, North. How."

North shrugs. "Jack, Jarvis just knew me, that is all. Most robots know me. I am legend among AI." Jack's skepticism is easy enough to read, and North insists; "No really, Jack. I created Earth's first robot, a Djinni! Is enough to make me famous, no?"

"U_huh._" Jack says, eyes skeptical. He knows North is an inventor, so it's not _impossible, _but it's certainly strange. "And where is this robot? I've never seen it."

"You are sitting on him."

Jack's eyes snap open. Bewildered, he looks at the sleigh beneath his feet.

"As for why Djinni is now a sleigh—that is long story," North shrugs.

"Huh," says Jack, "you'll… have to tell me the story later. It sounds… interesting." He relaxes slowly, blue eyes curious. After a moment of silence, Jack moves, gently prodding the sleigh's dashboard with his staff a few times, like he's expecting it to jump up and bite him. When nothing particularly magical happens, Jack sits back on his heels and stares thoughtfully at it. Curious, wondering. Absently, he takes another bite of his gingerbread man, deep in thought.

North blinks at the cookie, probably pilfered from the sleigh's cookie stash. "Ah. Stealing cookies, Jack?"

Jack stops mid-chew, then looks down at the cookie in his hands like he's never seen it before. Eyes wide, he looks up at North. "…I can explain," he begins guiltily, his hand literally caught in the cookie jar.

Jack's words almost—almost—make North frown. _I can explain—_it's a phrase Jack picked up recently and uses whenever he thinks he's done something very, very wrong. North suspects he started using it after Easter. When Jack went missing, causing Easter's downfall, Bunny, Tooth, and even North had failed to listen to Jack's explanation, which would have saved them all a lot of heartache.

Now, whenever something goes wrong, Jack's first reaction is to get his side of the story out as fast as possible. North does his best to listen, now, even though it's disheartening to watch Jack metaphorically tiptoe around him and the others, like Jack fears he'll be sent away at any moment.

But this time, North ignores Jack's rushed explanations, simply because _I can explain _is a phrase that shouldn't be used for something as small and as innocent as stealing a few cookies.

"Nonsense, Jack," North waves off Jack's worry. "If you are hungry, eat. Here. Have more." He empties his pocketful of cookies into Jack's hands. Jack fumbles with the newfound bounty, squeaks in delight, and nearly devours them all at once.

With that finished, North takes up the reigns and leans forward to inspect the navigation system on the sleigh's dashboard. "Now let's see. Where to next?"

Jack slides down into the seat next to North. "Buh-nny cah-lled." He says through a mouthful of cookies. "Ee sayhd wur a'ead a edsl."

"…Eh?"

Jack pauses, then with a struggle, swallows the large mouthful off Christmas cookies. With a wince, he speaks again. "I said Bunny called." Jack repeats. "We're ahead of schedule. According to your computers the Pole. Not that Bunny trusts computers."

Similar to how Jack is guarding the sleigh, the other Guardians are helping out too—Bunnymund is guarding the Pole, and also babysitting North's navigational computers while he's at it. However, the Pooka is less than savvy with technology, and North doesn't exactly trust his findings.

"_Ahead _of schedule?" he repeats, bewildered. He leans forward to double check the navigation system on the sleigh's dashboard. Sure enough, they are a full 5 minutes ahead.

North can only sit back and blink. This is… well, quite frankly, it's never happened before. North is always running late, due to one problem or another. Other spirits sometimes make it a game to ruin Christmas for fun, and with Pitch on the prowl this year, North was sure something would go terribly, terribly wrong.

But, perhaps accepting help from his fellow Guardians this year had been not only a great deterrent, but has actually helped move Christmas along?

"Actually, _Sandy _called too. Asked us to slow down or take a break," Jack says, leaving North even more bewildered. Catching the big guy's confusion, Jack clarifies. "He's putting the next town to sleep. Hard to get sugarplums dancing above kids' heads if we beat the Sandman there."

"…Oh." North can only blink in surprise.

"So, looks like we've got five minutes to kill. What do you wanna do?" Jack leans back in his seat, propping his feet up on the dashboard.

North pauses, taking a moment to sit back and take a deep breath. A break? It sounds absurd. North wants to protest—he hasn't taken a break during Christmas for _centuries, _thank you very much. If he is ahead of schedule, surely he should keep up the good pace?

Then again—

North takes a deep breath and looks over the New York City skyline; at the quarter moon hanging in the sky, and the city buzzing below. Delivering Christmas presents is quite an arduous task, and North is always left feeling exhausted afterwards. Though he's not even close to done with his route, the dull ache in his joints is starting to grow. A break certainly would be nice.

North, caught in indecision, looks over to ask Jack his opinion. Jack is relaxed, sitting with a hand outstretched as the wind threads through his fingers. Despite his calm exterior, Jack is still alert, keeping one eye on the long shadows cast over Stark Tower's roof. Waiting for Pitch, or anyone who might surprise them.

Suddenly, as North watches Jack's eyes sweep to and fro, he remembers the letter. He realizes this is the perfect time to tell Jack. Besides, Jack's gaze is already starting to wander back to Stark Tower's windows, sparking with a hint of mischief and temptation.

Leaning back in his seat, North grins. "Jack, I have a surprise for you!" he announces, earning Jack's attention.

Jack is suddenly all ears. "…Is it more cookies?"

"…No." North ignores Jack's small, disappointed _aww,_ and says, "Is better than that! One of your believers wrote you a letter!"

"A letter?" Jack blinks. "Okay, I'll bite. Who wrote it? Jamie? Claude?"

"No, not from Burgess. From here!" North makes an extravagant gesture to Stark Tower.

Again, Jack blinks. "…Huh?"

North pulls the paper from his coat pocket with a grin. "You have a new believer!" Which brings the grand total up to… eight. Seven Burgess kids and one Avenger. Quite frankly, it's an odd combination.

North offers the letter eagerly for Jack to take. Jack does, confused, and blinks at the paper for a moment. North explains, "He wrote you a letter. Well, wrote _me _a letter, but it is about _you_. Is interesting, no?" He watches Jack expectantly, waiting for a reaction. It's proof of a new believer, and that's big news—and besides, North is more than a little curious about what's written on the inside.

For a moment, Jack just stares at the letter, his eyes running across the delicately detailed marks. There is silence, and then—

"Jack, you—you are holding it upside down."

"…Oh." Jack says, but makes no attempt to flip the letter over. He blinks at it once, then gives North a slight smile. "Cool. Maybe you can read it to me later," he says, handing it back.

North accepts it, puzzled, and watches for a moment as Jack leans back into his seat. The boy's eyes flicker curiously down at the letter in North's hands again, then away. Clearly, the boy is curious at the letter's contents, so why…?

For a moment longer, North stares, then the answer dawns on him. "…You can't _read,_" he says.

Jack just laughs. "North, If I could read—I'd have written my name on every frosty window in the world until _someone _believed in me!" he exclaims, eyes dancing in amusement.

North's happiness deflates a little. It always does, somehow, whenever Jack mentions his lack of believers. Seven children—that is only a _fraction _of North's believers. A _fraction _of a fraction. North probably even _loses _seven kids, or more, every day. And because a Guardian's powers—and a Guardian's _life_—are dependent on how many children believe in them, it's frightening to think that Jack is so close to Zero. But, despite having only a few believers, Jack seems content.

It's humbling, in a way.

North and the others have all truly been _trying _to get him more believers, but Jack Frost's status as "just an expression" seems very firmly stuck in place. In addition, the Guardians have been frantically trying to do damage control since the Easter debacle, and the Alien invasion during Summer hasn't helped matters.

North leans back to look at the moon, thinking. After finishing Christmas this year, he'd have to make Jack's believer base his top priority. He wouldn't stop until Jack had at least one new believer.

_Well, _he thinks, eyes flickering down to the letter in his large hands. _One __**more **__new believer._

Jack sits forward suddenly, catching North's attention. "Say, _speaking _of believers," he says, a smile tugging at his lips. "You know what we should do after we finish delivering presents? …We should stop in Burgess!"

"…To see Jamie?" North asks, guessing the hidden agenda.

Jack is completely unashamed at his motives. "And the others. Please?" the teen asks, clasping his hands together. He puts on the best puppydog face he can muster. "_Pleeease?"_

North chuckles, his fingers gripping the letter tighter. "Alright, Jack, if that's what you want."

Jack smiles, practically glowing. "Thanks!" he says. "I mean, I'm sure Jamie and the others are going to have an awesome Christmas, but I just want to make sure it's…"

_Bing! _The sleigh's dashboard interrupts loudly. It's North's schedule timer, announcing it's time to move on to the next town.

"…Perfect," Jack finishes. He grins and hops up, taking up his guard post at the back of the sleigh again. "Time to go?"

"Time to go."

Jack nods, settling into place, crouched and ready for takeoff. His eyes are alert again, sweeping the shadows around the roof and beneath the sleigh. When he sees no sign of their familiar foe, he gives the all-clear. "So where to next?"

"Well, we are done with New York, so—down to Jersey." North says, putting the letter away into his inner coat pocket and grabbing up the reigns. He stands, taking the helm of the sleigh.

The reindeer are suddenly restless again, sensing movement. They stomp the ground with their hooves and toss their heads, eager for flight. North won't have them wait any longer. With the snap of the reins, the restless beasts take off in a full gallop, surging across the wide, flat rooftop and off into the air.

North pulls out a large snowglobe and whispers a location into it. The snow inside swirls and thickens, and North throws it straight forward. A blast shakes the air as a portal forms, opening a blue swirling vortex to a city in the south.

North glances backwards to make sure Jack is still holding on tight. The boy has reclaimed his lookout point at the back seat, but his eyes are distant, looking down at Stark Tower. The gaze is only a moment long, but it's enough to make North think.

Gently, North pats his jacket, and the letter underneath, wondering what's on Jack's mind.

The wind catches up to them, dancing about Jack like a whirlwind, and Jack finally smiles. He cups his hands to his mouth and, loud enough to startle, he shouts out a couple trademark words.

"Ho, ho, ho!" he calls, and his deep voice bounds off the many skyscrapers below. "_Merry Christmas_!"

North cannot help but grin.

He turns and urges the reindeer forward. The sleigh enters the portal at top speed, vanishing from the sky. In a bright flash of light, the portal is gone too, leaving behind nothing but a watchful moon and a quiet Christmas Eve.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Reminder: Tune in tomorrow for some Guardian family bonding, Jack's trickster antics, and the revealing of Thor's mysterious letter. _


	4. Something Unexpected

_Welcome back again! Almost didn't make my deadline. Word of advice: don't download AVG free if you have Windows Vista. It seriously messes with your computer. Anyway, Without further ado, Chapter 4._

* * *

**Something Unexpected**

It's mid afternoon on December 25th, and Bunnymund is not feeling the Christmas cheer.

North promised he'd be back by Noon, Eastern Standard time, and it's now several hours past that. Several hours that Bunnymund has had to endure a drafty room, a glitchy computer, and a legion of mischievous elves. It's enough to drive him up a wall.

Just as Bunnymund is considering sending out a search party, North's sleigh appears on the horizon. Four bloody hours late.

Rolling his eyes and muttering curses under his breath, Bunny heads downstairs.

The sleigh pulls into the underground docking area after a landing that's awfully rough, even by North's standards. When the sleigh pulls up to the workshop's underground entrance, Bunnymund makes sure he's already there, standing over his two coworkers with the sourest glare he can muster.

"Yer _late,_" he accuses, tapping his large, rabbit-like foot impatiently.

The sleigh creaks to a stop in front of him, and Bunnymund finally gets a good look at the two. To be honest, both North and Jack look exhausted. North's cheeks are rosy from the cold and his beard is tangled by the wind, and his movements are slower than molasses. In contrast, Jack always looks windblown, but even he seems weary, stiff from crouching in one place all night.

Still, Jack always finds enough energy to banter. He smiles tiredly and grins up at Bunnymund. "Aw, you missed us? I'm touched."

Bunnymund rolls his eyes. "And _where _were you two?" he asks. "You shoulda been back hours ago. What were you up to—kickin back in Hawaii? Doin' a victory lap?" Knowing North, it's a possibility.

North turns off the sleigh's controls; the faint hum sputters and dies, and he sits back heavily into his seat, worn out. "We delivered presents…"

"I know, I meant _after _that."

"Then, we flew around the world, once," North rubs his arm absently, eyes drifting a little. "To make sure Christmases all over the world were successful."

"Okay…" it makes sense that North would want to check up on his work, at least. Bunnymund often does the same after Easter is finished. But that shouldn't have taken _four full hours_…

"—Then after, we stopped in Burgess."

Bunnymund scowls. "…Of course you did." He mutters, casting an irritated glance at the obvious culprit to that decision. Jack blinks back, then gives a cheeky grin.

"Oh, by the way, Sophie says hi," he says, looking as innocent as possible.

Bunnymund wonders if he ought to say something, but it's late, and it's been a long day for everyone, so he drops it. He turns his attention back to North, who is moving like he's half asleep and has lead in his veins. He's fumbling with the reigns, trying to untangle them, but unable to manage the complicated task in his exhaustion.

He watches North struggle with the reigns for a moment, giving a dry look to the sleigh's askew parking job, then sighs. Taking pity, he hops over to help. "Here, c'mon, gimme that," Bunny orders, snatching the reigns away and handing them to a nearby Yeti who's come over to assist.

North's tired fingers fumble and try to snatch the reigns back. "I can do it," he insists, fighting a yawn. "Sleigh is just… crooked, that's all. Bad landing."

"…All yer landings are bad," Bunnymund retorts, reaching over and shutting down the rest of the sleigh's systems. He tosses the keys to North's head Yeti, Phil, then looks back at North with a wry grin. "In fact, when we exchange presents tomorrow, I think I'm gonna give you a driver's license, just so I can take it away from you."

North frowns. "My driving is not _that _bad."

Just then, Toothiana flies in, a blur of iridescent green feathers. She's panicked, and alert. She zips over to them and hovers, much like a nervous hummingbird. "Oh my gosh, is everyone ok?" she asks as her eyes dart, worried, from North to Jack and back again. "I was in North's workshop when the sleigh came in—I could hear the crash from all the way upstairs!"

Bunnymund gives North a dry look that says _I told you so._

"Bah," North says, throwing up his hands. "Fine! I will practice my driving. And fine tune sleigh. Maybe the controls are off." North is not entirely willing to admit that his bad driving is his own fault. He taps the globelike display on the dashboard, starting to tinker with it.

Bunnymund pulls him away from the controls and pulls North to his feet. "Later, ya drongo. You look beat. Time for bed."

North mutters something in protest, but lets himself be hauled to his feet. "Christmas still needs to be wrapped up," he says. "And sleep is not that important."

Bunnymund chuckles darkly. "Don't let Sandy hear you say that."

As if on cue, Sandy floats in, following Toothaina downstairs at a much less frantic pace. The stout little golden man drifts in on a golden cloud of sand, and judging by the raised eyebrow, he heard everything North said. A golden ball of dreamsand appears in his hand, and he bobs it up and down in the air, tossing it to himself as he gives North a pointed, unamused look. From the back of the sleigh, Jack chuckles, enjoying the show.

In defense, North holds up his hands. "I did not mean sleep is not _important,_ Sandy," he insists. "…I just meant there are other things I must do first."

"Exactly!" Tooth exclaims, but before North can thank her for backing him up, she adds, "He has to eat first. Otherwise he'll wake up cranky."

"Eat? That is not what I—"

She rounds on him. "North, I saw your frantic Christmas preparations. You and Jack haven't had a solid meal in 48 hours. Don't try to tell me otherwise."

"We have had plenty. Milk and cookies…"

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, and I'm sure that's good for you. And your teeth," she remarks dryly. "I meant some _real _food."

But North seems oddly obstinate, shaking his head, and slowly Bunnymund is starting to guess why. "Ya know, North," he comments, crossing his arms. "I know you. Normally, you'd be kickin' back and enjoyin' a job well done. Passin' out presents and eggnog for everyone. So why aren't ya?"

North waves him away. "There is just things that still must be done," he says. "Buffing sleigh… grooming reindeer—"

Raising an eyebrow, Bunnymund jerks a thumb behind him, towards the Yetis that are already polishing the sleigh's dashboard, untangling the reigns, and leading the reindeer away towards the stables. One is even glaring at Jack, still waiting for the young spirit to hop off his perch at the back of the sleigh so he can get at the sleigh's cargo.

It's very clear that they're all over the job, but North still reaches for excuses. "I must also—double check globe," he says, rubbing his temple. The excuse isn't enough to erase Bunnymund's dry look, so he offers another; "And scan security systems for nightmare sand—"

"I knew it." Bunnymund announces. "This is about Pitch!"

North frowns deeply, but doesn't deny it.

Bunnymund shakes his head. "North, I promise. I was watchin' your place like a hawk. Sandy kept his eyes peeled for problems, and Tooth and her fairies responded to every single Nightmare sighting while they were out collectin' teeth. Nothing went wrong, I promise. Pitch didn't even show."

"Exactly," North says.

"What?"

"Pitch did not show." North says. "He was not even near Burgess, where his lair is. We all expected him to show and—he didn't." He pauses, sighs, and rubs his forehead again. "…That somehow worries me more."

Bunnymund nearly laughs. "And what are ya worried about?" he asks. "Christmas is already over. Even if Pitch _is _sneaking around with some dastardly plan—and that's a big _if_—there's no way he can ruin things now."

Still, North hesitates. He looks ready to protest, as a good warrior should be on guard at all times. And Bunnymund has to agree; he's a little worried too. It is odd, with the increased Nightmare activity lately, that Pitch didn't even _try _to mess with Christmas. It would've been a serious blow after losing Easter earlier that year, so the lack of Pitch seems… worrisome.

But Bunnymund also knows a good warrior needs _rest,_ and North, who's been delivering presents nonstop for the past 24 hours, and frantically preparing Christmas long before that, certainly deserves a break. Bunnymund shakes his head. "Ey, listen. Even if Pitch is sneakin' around, you really think we're gonna let him try anything? No. Have some faith in us, North." Bunny pats him on the back, reassuring. "We'll still be here in case anythin' happens. But you need to take your well deserved rest, got it?"

The big guy hesitates once more, but Bunnymund's promise seems to reassure him somewhat. At last, North relents, throwing up his hands with a defeated sigh. "Ach. Fine, fine. I will eat—then sleep. If you insist."

Bunny grins in victory, Tooth cheers, and Sandy gives a thumbs up; North, muttering under his breath, adds, "You have all turned into mother hens."

"Hey, the sooner we getcha back on yer feet, the sooner I can go back to my nice, warm Warren," Bunnymund says, shaking out a paw that's gone a bit numb on the floor's cold concrete. He turns his attention, ushering his friends towards the door. "Now come on, get upstairs, the lot of you."

He reaches the doorway before he feels a tug at his fur. Bunny looks down to see Sandy pointing back at the sleigh.

Jack, oddly, is still sitting there, perched on the back of the sleigh. It's almost as if he's waiting for something, lingering behind. Bunnymund frowns; for such an attention-seeking spirit, Jack is too good at fading into the background when he doesn't want to be noticed.

"Comin', Jack?" Bunnymund calls, because sometimes, Jack doesn't realize he's part of a group unless he's specifically included.

Instead, Jack jumps as if surprised, and his eyes look—oddly guilty. He remains crouched, huddling closer to the toy bag. "Uh, yeah, um—You guys go ahead… I'll catch up?"

It's obvious that Jack has no intention of letting himself be herded into the kitchen _or _tucked into bed. Bunnymund sighs.

Tooth takes control of the situation. "Jack," she says, zipping up to him, trying to coax him off the sleigh. "You need food and sleep too." Sandy nods in agreement.

Jack just looks innocent. "Who, me?" he asks, gathering his staff, and he goes to move off the sleigh. "Nah. I'm fit as a fiddle—"

He promptly contradicts himself as he goes to crawl off his perch. In mid-step, his body lurches, off balance. The stiffness in his limbs robs him of his usual catlike grace, and he pitches forward, headfirst. Tooth catches him around the waist before he falls.

"Sure you are," she says dryly. Jack straightens, shaking out the pins and needles in his legs.

He turns to look at them. "That doesn't count," he says.

"Come on, Jack. Food, bed." Bunny says. Tooth takes his hand and tries to drag him to the door; Sandy comes over and gets behind to push. Predictably, Jack resists.

"No really, guys, I'm fine." He insists. "I just thought I'd—" he pauses, looking around. "—help put the stuff away, that's all."

Bunnymund, about to say something sarcastic, holds his tongue. His eyes wander back to the sleigh's cargo: the big, red, deflated sack of toys. Jack's been guarding that thing all night—and he's probably become irrationally attached to it by now. Rolling his eyes, Bunnymund passes Jack and hops forward, approaching the back of the sleigh. "Alright fine, Jack. I'll get the toys and _then _we can go upstairs."

"Um—" Jack stammers suddenly, stepping forward. "I… I can help you with that…" he offers when he sees Bunny reach for the sack.

"Relax, Jack, I got it." He knows this is one of Jack's delaying tactics, and he isn't going to fall for it. Bunny motions to the door before reaching out to grab the bag. "Go get some food an' I'll be up in a second, after I—_oof._" Bunny goes to pick up the bag and nearly drops it in surprise.

"Bunny?" North asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bunny glares at the bag suspiciously. "Yeesh, North, this is heavier than a load of bricks," he grumbles. He notices Jack cringe and make a _wait a second _gesture, but he pays it no heed. Shaking his head, he hops around to the back of the sleigh for a better access to the sack. "What's in here, anyway?" he asks, lifting the bag's hem to look inside. "Didja guys forget to deliver a few presents, or…"

"Easter Bunny, Hop Hop!"

"—_What the_—!" Bunnymund jerks back suddenly, but not before a little blonde someone leaps out of the bag and latches on to his neck.

Sophie Bennett dangles from his shoulders, clinging like a monkey, and lets out a delighted squeal. She buries her face in his ruff, rubbing her cheeks in the soft fur, and giggles.

Bunnymund turns to look, bewildered, at the others. North's eyes are wide in surprise. Sandy is blinking, confused. Tooth's jaw is agape in shock. And Jack, unsurprisingly, is trying to sneak away unnoticed.

"Jack!" Bunny snaps, and the boy stands stiff as a board, his hand caught in the metaphorical cookie jar.

Everyone's eyes turn to their resident trickster. Jack just gives a nervous laugh and a shaky grin. "…Yes?" he asks, as though he doesn't know what Bunnymund is going to say.

The Pooka just scowls and points to the blonde mop hanging from his neck.

"Oh. Yeah." Jack chuckles uneasily. "Well, that's… that's Sophie for you, eh? Always… getting into places she… shouldn't… be…?"

"She must've crawled in when we visited Burgess," North mumbles to himself, scratching his beard in thought. "I was tired—not paying as much attention as I should…"

But Bunnymund is not done. He gives Jack a flat glare, then, deliberately, pokes North's bag with his boomerang.

"Ow!" a boys voice yelps. It's followed by several other voices trying to shush him.

Everyone's eyes widen.

"Jack, you didn't." North says. Without a second's hesitation, the big man steps forward and grabs the cloth's fabric, throwing open the bag.

All six of Jack's believers jump in surprise, blinking at the sudden change of light. Claude and Caleb nearly fall into the seat, Cupcake pushes Monty over for more room, Pippa squeaks in terror, and Jamie shares a panicked glance with Jack. Everyone in the room gapes at the sudden appearance of children.

Bunny takes a deep breath to speak, and Jack quickly throws his hands out to stop the Pooka from yelling. "I can explain!" he blurts in a panic.

North, Bunny, Sandy, and Tooth look at him. "…Well?" Bunny prompts, when Jack does not immediately produce an excuse.

"…Uhhhh…." Jack says, biting his lip. He looks at the Guardians, the children, and the Guardians again. After a second of silence, he raises his hand, making a slow, passing, mystic gesture.

"…These are not the droids you're looking for."

"…What?"

"Augh, okay, fine!" Jack confesses. "I only snuck them in for a little while, I swear! I was gonna take them back, soon. …ish. Maybe."

"…_Maybe?"_

"I just—" Jack sighs. "I just wanted them to see the workshop, that's all. We've been planning this for weeks. I knew North would be tired after delivering presents…"

"…So you snuck 'em into the sack when he wasn't looking." At least it's a solid plan. The sack holds lots of things in a small space—North probably wouldn't notice the sack's tiny change in volume at all. A simple, easy plan. Bunnymund would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. But that doesn't give Jack a free pass.

"And what makes you think sneaking seven children into Santa's workshop is a good idea?" he asks, and Jack ducks his head. "North has reasons fer his rules, ya know. You aren't exempt. What made you think you could get away with this?" Bunnymund asks, crossing his arms.

"They can stay," North says.

"Exactly. Now take th' kids and—_what?_"

Bunnymund rounds his glare on North, cradling Sophie in his arms for a better hold on the squirming child. She's trying to braid his fur. "Mate, I thought ya had a rule. No kids in the Workshop."

"Well, yes," North says, an infuriating grin sliding onto his face. "But, you did say I should throw celebration for a job well done?"

"…That is _not _what I said." Bunnymund resents having his words used against him.

"And what is a celebration without guests?" North continues, completely ignoring Bunny's sour look. "I do not normally let children in here, but… Is special occasion, yes?"

At this, the children's faces light up. Jack looks at them, then at North. "So… they can stay?" he asks carefully.

"Of course!" North booms, jubilant despite his weariness. "The more the merrier!"

The kids gasp eagerly and cheer, climbing out of the sleigh. They rush over to North, gathering around him excitedly and tugging at his arms. "Thanks North!" exclaims Claude before giving his twin a high five.

"…Can we see the reindeer stables?" Cupcake asks hopefully, tucking her large mittens into her pocket.

"And the elves! Jack said there was elves!" Monte chimes in.

North just chuckles and bends down to their level. "Of course! And just wait till you see the Globe," he laughs.

Jack just watches the babbling children, leaning on his staff and smiling to himself. When Jamie comes up to him, he raises his eyebrows and ruffles the kid's hair affectionately. Jamie just grins and lightly elbows him back.

"Now," North says, standing, movements stiff but enthusiastic. "First, food! Who wants cookies?"

All the kids cheer and race for the door. Sophie cheers too, and though she's younger than them and doesn't quite grasp what's going on, she turns and hugs Bunny's neck, giggling in delight.

Bunnymund, about to protest, sighs and one-arm hugs her back. Reluctantly, he follows the kids and Guardians down the hallway to the elevator. No sense in cutting short the fun now. The kids are already here, after all. Getting North to bed might take an extra few hours, now, perhaps—but at least North is acting like himself, now, rather than worrying about Pitch.

Bunnymund is the last one in the elevator. He steps in and the door closes behind his tail. Jack looks at him and suppresses a smirk. "That style looks good on you, Cottontail," he comments.

"Eh?" Bunny blinks, and is suddenly aware that the fur near one side of his chin has been done up in tiny, haphazard braids. "…Oh f' the love of…"

With a sigh, he reaches up to undo Sophie's handiwork. The moment his claws touch the braids, Sophie stiffens and gives a high pitched whine. "Nooooo_ooo_," she says, voicing her displeasure.

Bunnymund stops and gives her a look, pulling his paw away from the braids. Immediately she brightens and smiles, innocent as ever.

With a more suspicious look now, Bunnymund touches the braids again, and—

"_NoooOOOooo!" _

He pulls away, and like flipping a lightswitch, she's happy again, humming in content. Bunny's ears go flat. "Oh. _Great._" He mutters.

Jack stifles a laugh, and as always, it's Tooth that swoops in to save the day. "Here, let me take her—Sophie honey! Sweetie, look at that!" she gathers the blonde girl in her arms and points over the elevator's railing as they rise above the scenery.

Sophie and the other kids turn to look as the elevator emerges from the lower levels, rising into the Workshop proper. Cold concrete gives way to a burst of color and warmth, and the narrow elevator shaft suddenly opens up, revealing a sweeping, grandiose room several stories tall—packed to the brim, of course, with every toy imaginable.

The wooden cage of the elevator continues to rise, giving a grand view of the place. The elevator carries them past the floors, too quickly to get anything but a glimpse of each individual one, but every level seems to have its own tone, ranging from orderly to chaotic, industrial to creative. Each floor has dozens of corridors, stretching outward in every direction… to where, they can only guess. It's a maze waiting to be explored.

A spiral staircase winds up the center, providing access to every level as it ascends to the top. Above it, the ceiling is a large skylight, a grid of glass that shows the North Pole's ever-starlit Winter sky. All in all, the room is nothing short of grand.

The centerpiece of all this majesty is of course the globe, turning gently on its axis, all the lights across the continents glowing with a steady, assuring light.

The children gasp in wonder and awe, captivated by the sight. Instantly they clamor to the railing to look, eyes wide and jaws hung slack. Behind them, North smiles with pride.

With the children distracted, Bunnymund discreetly edges his way over to a corner, claws gently dragging through his fur to unwind Sophie's braids. _Hopefully she won't notice_, he thinks with a grumble, paws tugging at another knot.

Jack slides over, slick and sly as a fox. His grin is certainly mischievous enough to mimic one. "I could redo the braids if you like," he offers. "Cornrows, French braids, anything. The whole deal. Just say the word."

Bunnymund turns an annoyed glare at Jack. "Ah keep it t' yerself, ya dag." He muttered.

Jack laughs. "Ouch, that hurt," he teases. "_Some_one's in a bad mood. It's okay, 'roo, I get why you're so cranky." He puts a hand over his heart, feigning sympathy. "I understand. I get to hang out with all my believers for the whole night. You must be _so_ jealous."

"Me? Jealous? He heh heh, _no._" Bunny answers, cocking an ear in arrogance. "Mate, I'm not the one who can fit all his believers in one elevator."

Jack balks a bit at this, a bit put out at Bunnymund's insinuation and flustering as he tries to hide it; but suddenly, something dawns in his eyes, and the smug look finds its way back to his face.

"Actually," he says, giving Bunnymund a haughty look. "That isn't exactly true. According to North, _I _have a new believer."

The surprise is clear on Bunnymund's face, and he's only saved from the stunned silence by the elevator creaking to a stop, swinging open to let them off at their destination.

Everyone piles out, Tooth and Sandy turning to Jack. "Really? Jack, that's wonderful!" she exclaims. Sandy gives a thumbs up in congratulation, and the kids smile at him eagerly.

Jack turns to give a smug smile to Bunnymund, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Bunnymund finally regains his wits, shakes his head, and says, "No, now wait a sec'nd. I'm not sure I believe ya, mate."

"What? Come on. I even have proof," Jack insists.

"Uhuh. I'll believe it when I see it." Bunnymund says, crossing his arms.

In response, North helpfully pulls out the letter from his jacket. "Here it is," North says, brandishing the proof. "Collected it while delivering presents today. Jack got a letter from a believer, and here is proof."

Bunnymund gapes at the paper for a moment, but, unwilling to concede to Jack's smug look, he quickly resumes his skepticism. "Ahah, nice try. This reeks of a prank. I don't buy it."

North, confused, frowns. "A prank?"

"Think about it. The kid knew ya were deliverin' presents today. He writes a phony letter, sneaks into a house and hides it for ya to find."

"Well, of course Jack can't do that. Jack cannot read!" North states, matter-of-fact.

"…And who, exactly, told ya that?" Bunny asks. North pauses, and Bunny says, "Jack did, I'll bet. Who's to say he didn't lie? Sure, maybe he didn't know how to read when he was human way back when, but he's been 'round for three hundred years! He's had plenty 'a time to pick it up. This is definitely one of Jack's pranks."

They pause, Jack glaring at Bunnymund while North thinks on the possibility. After a moment, though, North perks up. "No, I think I believe Jack," he says at last, nodding to himself.

"That's cause you're a right gullible idiot, mate."

"No," North says, as though he didn't catch the insult. "Jack did not write this letter. I am sure."

"Oh, and what makes _you_ so certain?" Bunny asks.

"Well, for starters," North says, eyes scanning the address line. "…Jack's name is misspelled."

"…That would pretty much prove it," Tooth agrees. Jack and Sandy share a glance before looking back at North.

Bunny balks, hopping closer to look over North's shoulder. "Wha—lemme see that." He demands, taking a look. "And exactly how do you manage to misspell _Jack Frost_?"

North holds it up for better reading. "To Santa," he reads, "Concerning Jokul Frosti."

There it is, plain as day on the paper. "Well I'll be," Bunny mutters.

"Jokul." Jack repeats in a tone that seems a touch out of place. There's something in Jack's voice that makes Bunnymund turn and look.

Jack's carefree, flippant attitude is guttering a bit, like a flame at the end of its wick. In its place, an odd emotion is creeping into his eyes, like he is turning a thought over in his mind. He squints, eyes flickering up at the skylight above them, then back to North. "Um, North, who—" he begins, slowly, as though choosing his words with care. "…Who wrote that letter, exactly?"

North, of course, utterly misses the change in Jack's behavior. He claps a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder and smiles, toting the letter. "It says it is from Thor Odinson," he answers. "Would you like me to read it to you now?"

Bunnymund blinks, hard. "_Thor?_" he repeats.

Jack pales. "_Odinson?_" he asks, visibly distressed.

For a moment, there is absolute silence, with the other Guardians staring at Jack oddly, wondering what prompted _that _reaction. Jack just stands there stunned for a moment, eyes locked, lips parted, as if silenced in disbelief.

"…Jack?" Tooth asks, fluttering just barely closer, concerned.

Jack blinks, and immediately, he switches to defensive mode, hiding his troubled expression behind the mask of a smile. With a nervous laugh, he reaches forward and plucks the letter from North's fingers. "Ah, well, um—we don't need to read this _now,_ right?" he says, pulling away. "I mean, we are hosting company, and I'm sure the kids aren't interested."

The kids, however, have another story. "Thor? Like—like _Avengers _Thor?!" Monty asks, literally bouncing in excitement.

"An _Avenger _wrote you a letter? Woah!" Claude pitches in.

"Do you think he signed it?" Pippa gasps. "You might have his autograph!"

"Oh Jack, you _hafta _read it!" Jamie insists, tugging eagerly on Jack's hoodie.

Jack's expression is one of panic. He's gone absolutely stiff, and his eyes flicker from the Guardians, to the kids, to the letter, and back again, clearly conflicted.

Bunnymund tilts his head to the side, curiosity piqued. It's quite obvious that whatever is in that letter, Jack doesn't want anyone else to know.

Which is exactly why Bunnymund _has _to read it.

Sneaking up behind Jack, Bunnymund plucks the letter from Jack's pale fingers, takes a step back, pops open the wax seal, looks at the address line, and clears his throat.

"Dear Santa," he reads aloud.

Jack pivots on his heel, eyes fuming. "Hey!"

Bunnymund must leap another foot back as Jack makes a snatch for the letter. He holds it out of reach and continues reading. "_Salutations! I am Thor, Prince of Asgard. I have recently heard of the celebration called "Christmas", and I am enthralled by the concept. I hope—"_

Jack literally lunges for Bunnymund, and the Pooka sidesteps, trying to dodge Jack while keeping a steady eye on the letter. _"—I hope the preparations of the tree are to your liking…" _Jack regains his footing and jumps again, and Bunnymund only saves himself by ducking behind North. _"…and that you feel welcome in our Midgardian abode."_

"Bunny I _swear—"_ Jack threatens, shuffling around North to reach Bunnymund. Bunny, in response, takes off, dashing in circles around the group. Jack is hot on his heels.

"_I beg pardon for my forwardness in penning this letter." _Bunnymund continues, his voice brimming with amusement as he tries to recite the words in a dramatic, Shakespearean tone. _"I have heard of your generosity and your skill and hoped, though you do not meddle in adult affairs, that you might—_"

Jack somehow gets around the others and cuts Bunny off, lunging straight for the letter. It seems for a second like the letter is in his grasp, but suddenly—Bunny drops.

Jack stumbles and skids, and whips around to look at the spot where Bunnymund was just standing. He's opened one of his rabbit holes, the tunnel yawning in the floor, a deft escape.

"—_that you might pass this message on." _Bunnymund's voice sounds from behind them. Bunny is clear across the room, lounging on one of North's sitting chairs.

Jack gives a frustrated growl and dashes forward, and Bunny wastes no time in leaping up again, weaving to and fro in their game of tag. _"It has come to my attention," _he reads, _"That the legendary Jokul Frosti participates in your Christmas ritual…" _

As a desperate act, Jack freezes the floor in front of Bunny. It almost takes Bunnymund in surprise, and he slips, but regains balance and uses his momentum to slingshot around North, abruptly changing direction onto dryer ground. It's Jack who doesn't react fast enough, skidding headfirst into a wall.

Bunny, smug, pulls up the letter again. _"I have great desire to contact him," _he reads as Jack staggers to his feet. _"We wish to hold audience with him, to request his… wise council…" _

It's the words on the page that make Bunnymund slow and stop. "Did—did I _read _that right?" he asks aloud, squinting at the paper.

Jack makes a frantic grab for the paper, but Bunnymund just pushes him away, frowning at the text. The kids murmur too, and Sandy casts a worried glance at North, who just shrugs.

Slowly, Bunnymund starts again, dropping the overdramatic voice in favor of clarity. "We wish to hold audience with him, to request his—wise council…" With a blink, Bunnymund reads, "…and to hopefully receive… his divine… blessing?"

Jack freezes in place, petrified, and everyone blinks in bewilderment at Bunny's words.

"…That this message reaches him is of the utmost importance. Please send my request, and my tributes…" Bunnymund's voice rises in disbelief, "…to Jokul Frosti—the _eternal God of Winter?!_ Jack, what _is _this?" Bunny asks turning to face the winter spirit.

"I can explain!" Jack blurts without a second thought.

Everyone stops, staring in silence for a long, long moment. Jack fumbles, mouth opening and closing, at a loss for words.

Carefully, Bunnymund peers down at the letter, frowning. "Jack, is this—some kind of joke, or something?" he asks.

Jack looks at him for a long moment. "…Yyyyyyes," he says slowly, in such a way that Bunny instantly knows he's lying.

It's the kids who break out of their stupor first. "Woah! Jack, you're a _god?_" Jamie asks, hanging off his arm.

Jack blinks down at his favorite believer for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, like tinder catching fire, his face lights up all at once. "Why, yes! Of _course _I'm a god!" he announces extravagantly, sweeping his arms wide, and all the children gasp in awe. "I hail from the old Pagan order, and was once worshipped by thousands in the days of yore…"

Bunnymund's voice is flat. "Jack, you're from a Puritan community in 1700s America."

"Bah, details." Jack waves him off. Resuming his regal pose, Jack points. "But now that you are aware of my heritage, I must resume my rightful throne as the God of Winter. And my first decree shall be—"

Jack uses his staff as a scepter, pointing up the winding staircase. "Cookies!"

The guardians collectively facepalm, and the children cheer.

"Now, off, to the kitchens, I say! Our quest for treats begins!" Jack announces, leading the way. The children follow, racing after him in a game of play and make believe.

—Leaving the Guardians behind, standing in the center of the workshop, staring in disbelief. It's an extravagant distraction Jack just pulled off, but it only serves to confirm what Bunnymund suspects: Jack knew _exactly _what was in that letter, which is why he was so determined to stop Bunny from reading it aloud.

Jack knows far more than he's letting on. And all Bunnymund can think as he looks down at the letter in his hands is,

"...What has Jack gotten himself into this time?"

* * *

_A/N: There we go, fourth chapter complete. I think we'll be getting back to the Avengers in the next chapter. We've been missing them lately, huh? It should be fun to write. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, by the way, and that it surprised you somewhat. Don't worry, we'll be getting back to Thor's letter, and the Guardians reactions, soon enough. _

_I know it's a bit hard to read it Thor's message in the chapter, since Bunny's busy teasing Jack with it. So, below I have included, for your easy reading pleasure, Thor's letter, unedited and in full. Thanks for reading! Hope to see you soon._

Dear Santa,

Salutations! I am Thor, Prince of Asgard. I have recently heard of the celebration called _Christmas_, and I am enthralled by the concept. I hope the preparations of the tree are to your liking, and that you feel welcome in our Midgardian abode.

I beg pardon for my forwardness in penning this letter. I have heard of your generosity and your skill and hoped, though you do not meddle in adult affairs, that you might pass this message on.

It has come to my attention that the legendary Jokul Frosti participates in your Christmas ritual. I have great desire to contact him. We wish to hold audience with him, to request his wise council, and to hopefully receive his divine blessing.

That this message reaches him is of the utmost importance. Please send my request, and my tributes, to Jokul Frosti, the eternal God of Winter.

May you be blessed with a Christmas most Merry.

Regards, from the Prince of Asgard, Wielder of Mjolnir, Midgardian Avenger,

Thor Odinson.


	5. Scattered Puzzle Pieces

_Hello everybody. I'm sorry for abandoning this story for a while—real life comes before my hobby, and sadly it's been harder finding a second job than I'd hoped. I haven't forgotten this story though, so here, have an extra long chapter as reward for your patience. _

_I see a lot of you have good theories on Jack's godhood. They're all very good – I actually considered a lot of those possibilities myself while brainstorming for this prompt! However, no one's gotten it quiiiite right, though some of you are on the right track. I left a few subtle clues in this chapter for those of you who like figuring out the mystery of why Asgard worships Jack as a God. If anyone gets it right, I'll definitely give you a shoutout at the end of next chapter. _

_With that in mind, thanks for waiting, here's Chapter 5._

* * *

**Scattered Puzzle Pieces**

Hawkeye is very observant and never misses a thing.

His teammates think he is the quiet one. While true—being legally deaf makes conversations rather frustrating—he _chooses_ to wait and watch instead of talk. Patience is a virtue; there's a certain pattern, a certain _logic _to the world that can only be found in the details.

Hawkeye is very good at seeing the little things—and sometimes, those little things are the most important of them all.

On Christmas Day, he notices several things.

First thing in the morning, Steve shivers a bit when he comes downstairs. He pulls his robe tighter to ward off the oddly chilly air and glares at the fern patterns frosting the smaller side windows. Clint knows he's never been fond of ice.

Natasha has an odd look on her face when she picks up her present from beneath the tree. She rubs her thumb over the _From Santa _tag like she's a naughty child who's never seen that name before. Clint can't help but wonder if she's thinking about the red on her ledger.

Thor helpfully cleans up after all the presents are unwrapped. He recycles the discarded wrapping paper, and his nine _Dear Santa _rough-draft letters along with it. Nine seems like a suspiciously high number of re-writes, especially for Thor, so Clint fishes one out of the trash and reads it.

Bruce spends the evening immersed in thick books, reading. Not his usual material—science journals, medical textbooks—but, instead, Norse Mythology. Titles like _Norse Gods _and _The Nine Realms _and _Jack Frost: A History _sit on the spines. Every time Clint turns around, Bruce has a different volume, so he knows Bruce isn't doing leisure reading, but research.

And Tony—Tony _scowls._ All day. When the others' backs are turned, when he thinks no one is looking, Tony scowls at the presents and scowls at the fireplace and scowls at the security cameras lining the walls. After the Christmas commotion has died down, Tony finally excuses himself and holes up in his workshop. Before bed, Clint peeks in and sees Tony scowling at his computer.

Clint knows better than to dismiss these signs as nothing. Together, they all have a weird sense of logic around them, like a jumbled set of jigsaw pieces scattered across the floor. There's a larger picture here—something unusual, something _important. _And he can almost see it.

He has the pieces. He just needs to put them together.

* * *

Tony is at his wits end.

"Is there any tampering to the cameras or alarms, Jarvis?"

"No sir."

The chances of Fury being the culprit are dwindling into the single digits.

"No signs of hacking in the mainframe?"

"None, sir."

If it _was _Fury, he must've been test driving one hell of a high tech spy suit.

"Are any of the locks forced? Basement? Back door? Garage? Rooftop?"

"Not one, sir."

Because for the _life _of him, Tony cannot figure out how his mystery intruder entered, let alone escaped.

It's late, and he's standing in his office with the evidence splayed out on screens and desks before him. He's been standing here for hours, arms crossed, scowling at the data. Because no matter how hard he looks, no matter what angle he approaches the problem, nothing seems to be particularly out of place.

At first, the lack of evidence was worrisome, but now it's just annoying.

"No broken windows, no security breaches, no outside interference, no gaps in the video tape—" Tony slaps the top of the computer screen he's working on, and it glitches out slightly. "When did our mystery visitor even _sneak in?_" he mutters to himself.

It was a rhetorical question, but Jarvis answers anyway. "12:23 am, sir."

Tony blinks.

"…What?"

"12:23 am, 45 seconds, 2 nanoseconds, a visitor was logged in to sensors on the top floor, Mr. Stark."

"You—are you saying you _knew _there was a break in and didn't tell me?"

"Yes sir."

Tony wonders if it's possible to strangle a computer. He's been working at this puzzle for a couple of hours, and yet Jarvis seems to have had the answers all along.

Well, then again, he can hardly count against Jarvis—he's just a computer, albeit a smart one. AI or not, he can't carry out an order that's never given. "Whatever. Just tell me who, what, when, where, why."

"And how?" Jarvis asks, all dry wit.

"And how."

"Who, Master North, also known as Santa Claus. Time, 12:23 am. Location, rooftop. Purpose, present delivery. Method, flying sleigh."

Tony blinks. And blinks again. "Flying sleigh. Okay. Well. Glad we got that cleared up. Not only is that the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, but it's also—"

And he stops, just as his mind catches up with his mouth. What Jarvis said finally hits him full force, and Tony's mind grinds to a halt, his whole brain freezing, lips sputtering in utter disbelief.

"Did—did you just say_ Santa Claus?"_

* * *

Natasha is not amused.

She and Steve are sparring in one of the sub levels—Block 38-B, a training room Tony designed just for them. Vaulted ceilings, various platforms, changeable terrain, even a scoreboard to keep track of their wins and losses. (Currently—Cap: 37, Widow: 41)

Sparring is part of their nightly routine, now; on quiet evenings, they take to the practice courts. It's become a game of skill and subterfuge. Steve's super strength is balanced against Natasha's catlike agility. Natasha's underhanded tactics often catch him off guard; Steve's strategies keep her on her toes. Overall, they are an even match.

But tonight something is… different.

After months of sparring, she's learned how to read him. She knows how hard he typically hits and how fast he can duck. And tonight, the Captain's blocks are shaky, and his strikes are weak. His movements can almost be described as lethargic. For whatever reason, he is not giving the fight his all.

She plays along for a while, hoping he'll pick up the pace and stop wasting her time. It doesn't work. Blow after blow, he remains slow, dull, and cautious. After five minutes stuck in warm-up mode, she finally gets frustrated and changes tactics. She feints left, watches his weight shift, and then roundhouse kicks him squarely in the chest.

He falls flat on his back with a solid, satisfying _thump_.

She scowls, hands on her hips.

"Are you going _easy _on me?" she asks, offended. "I thought I beat that silly notion out of you _months_ ago."

With a breathless laugh, Steve shakes his head and sits up. "I wouldn't dare," he assures her.

"Then what is it? You're hardly trying at all. I came here to fight—not to dance."

He's still out of breath, thanks to that impressively solid kick, and so doesn't answer right away. All he can manage is a self-depreciating chuckle. He runs his hand through his hair—a frustrated gesture. It makes her pause.

Could there be another reason why he's not fighting hard? One he can't really control? Natasha racks her brain for other possibilities. Illness… injury… exhaustion…

_Maybe because it's Christmas,_ she decides finally. It's the most logical answer she can produce. On the surface, it's a really stupid excuse_—'he doesn't want to fight because it's a holiday'_—but she's aware that people can get very depressed during the joyful season. Christmas sometimes means missing family or remembering dead relatives, or nostalgic longing for the past. And for Steve—who has literally lost his friends, his teammates, almost his entire _culture _by being frozen for 70 years—the effects of nostalgia might be more akin to grief.

It's her best guess. Reluctantly, she sighs, offering him a hand up, and he graciously accepts.

"You know," she says once he's back on his feet. "We don't have to spar today. If you're tired, take a break. I still have to try out my new Christmas present anyway."

"Present?" Steve asks, between deep breaths. He flexes his hands and stretches his shoulders. "You mean… that weapons bracelet you got from 'Santa'?"

She smiles. "Yeah, that one."

Her eyes flicker over to the corner, where the brand new weapons are laid across the bench. They're a work of art, really. Long, stiff black leather bracers, armed with a grappling hook, a pair of throwing knives, and spring loaded barrels designed to shoot needles tipped with various poisons. The materials are of good quality and well crafted, and on the inside, there are words writ in Russian pressed into the leather; an elegant, fitting name – _Widow's Bite_.

The corner of her mouth quirks in a smile. "It's a beauty. Though I don't quite follow the logic – I'm a 'good girl' all year, so 'Santa' rewards me by giving me a deadly weapon. Well." She says dryly. "I suppose I should give Clint a gold star for effort, at least."

Steve frowns, puzzled. "Clint? I thought Bruce was the one playing Santa Claus."

"He was? You're sure?"

"I heard Bruce and Tony explaining Christmas to Thor last night."

Natasha shrugs. "I just assumed. The bracelets are exactly my size, and Clint's the only one with access to my measurements."

"…Huh."

She shrugs again and brings the conversation back to the matter at hand. "My point is, I've got plenty to keep me busy. If you're tired, just say so. I won't mind."

Steve sighs, rolling his shoulders again. "I really _am _fine, Natasha," he insists, stretching out his joints until they pop. "It's just the cold."

"The cold?" she blinks. She hadn't thought of that possibility.

"It makes my joints ache, that's all. It's irritating."

She's heard some of the older agents, with old injuries, make the same complaint. The comment sounds weird coming from the young super soldier Captain America. "But… wasn't over half of your World War II campaign fought in the winter?" she asks.

He gives a wry smile. "Tromping around in the snow and ice is one thing," he admits. "Being encased in it is another."

Oh. "…I didn't realize," Natasha says at last, shifting her weight as she thinks about it. It certainly makes sense, at least. She's more surprised at the fact that Steve actually brought the matter up in conversation. The whole 'being frozen' thing is a touchy subject for him.

To be honest, Natasha is curious. Steve usually avoids talking about his crash and the things that came after. So against her better judgment, she pries. "…Do you actually remember being frozen?" she asks carefully.

He pauses. "I try not to," he says at last. "If only because I start to remember Penny, and Howard, and everything else I left behind."

He sounds bitter. Natasha blinks. Maybe her theory about Christmas Nostalgia wasn't so far off the mark. The old memories—the painful memories—are still on his mind.

The unease must be plain on her face, because he tries to explain. "I don't know," he sighs at last, running a hand through his hair. "All the memories, all the people I left behind… it's hard. Some days I just wish I could forget."

Her heart skips unexpectedly in her chest. "Why would you say that?" she asks, baffled. From what she understands, his memories are cherished ones—why would he wish, even for a second, to abandon them?

He meets her eyes squarely. "Being frozen—the ice, it took everything from me. If you had something you loved, and you were suddenly… had it _taken _from you… wouldn't you want to forget?"

She stares at him for a moment. Perhaps a moment too long.

Quite frankly it's a question she can't answer. Not only because her whole _life _has been spent in chaos and upheaval—but also because she's never had that perfect home, that happy moment where she wouldn't change a thing. She supposes there must have been some time in her life before the chaos—before she became a spy—but she was so young when she transferred to the Red Room facility. Her hypothetical happy childhood, if it existed, would have been short, and she didn't remember it anyway.

At last she shakes her head and steps back. "Well, either way," she says, resuming her fighting stance. "If it's the cold that's bothering you, we should keep sparring. It's good practice. We can't have you freezing up on the battlefield."

Hesitantly, Steve shakes out his shoulders and takes up his fighting pose too. "Are you sure?" he asks. "I know you're not exactly feeling patient with me right now. I can train alone—find a way to work around the annoyances by myself if you don't want to spar."

But Natasha shakes her head, not just because he's a teammate who needs someone to push him, but also because they could _both _use the distraction.

"It's fine," she assures him. "Besides, the best way to deal with annoyances is to push right past them. Trust me—just ignore it until it goes away." She puts her fists up.

Steve laughs. "What, that actually _works _for you?" he asks, incredulous.

She shrugs.

"Works on everything except for Tony."

* * *

"Jarvis, this isn't even remotely funny."

"My apologies sir, perhaps my needs an upgrade."

"No Jarvis, I'm serious, did someone hack you? It was Fury wasn't it. This is revenge for the Helicarrier incident, I can tell."

"Although Master Fury has every right to exact revenge, I am quite frankly insulted that you think he could manage it, Sir."

"Well, _someone _obviously has," Tony mutters, pulling up three new security cameras to gain a better view of the rooftop. Still nothing. "One minute we're having a reasonable conversation, and the next, you're making obscene claims and insisting that Santa exists."

"If I may be so bold—I do recall last night, the exact same scenario happened between you and Master Thor."

"That's—not the point."

"The point, sir?"

Tony's got nine cameras up on screen now, covering every corner of the rooftop, hallway, stairs, elevator, and air vents between the rooftop and the Christmas Tree.

"The point, _Jarvis, _is that I've got eyes on every inch of the rooftop, and I don't see a single blip in the feed."

"I'm sorry sir. I'll schedule you for an eye appointment tomorrow."

"Jarvis!"

"Is 8 am too early? It seems they've got a 1 pm block open if you'd prefer."

"Oh, yes, 8 am would be perfect," Tony snarks back, checking his watch. "_That _way, when I get back, I'll have the whole day to gut your central processing unit and _rebuild your personality programming from scratch!_"

"May I suggest you do it sober this time, sir? That may have been your initial mistake."

Oh, _someone's _getting reprogrammed, that's for sure.

Tony just sits there, fuming, glaring at the screens. He's heard Jarvis talk back to him before, but never quite so _insistently_. But what makes Jarvis's ridiculous claims unbearable is Tony's own inability to come up with a better explanation. "Santa did it" is starting to sound almost _reasonable. _And it frustrates Tony to no end.

At last, he gives the nearest screen a solid smack, watching it glitch out again. As the picture sharpens, he glares at the empty room. The video's only movement is Thor on the couch, snoring.

It angers him—not what's on the screen, but what isn't. He's a man of science, and he works solely on proof. Sure, the evidence sometimes has to physically slap him in the face before he notices it, but at least it's there. Here—there's nothing but silence.

"Well Jarvis, let's say you're right. Santa visited us last night. Seeing as how we don't have a chimney—" he rubs his temple, rolling his eyes. "Do you see the problem, Jarvis? No Chimney, no Santa."

"Well of course not. He used the roof access door."

"The door, of course. How silly of me. And how, exactly, did he get in?"

"I admitted him, sir."

"And we're _back _to this again," Tony mutters.

Tony sits back, grumbling to himself. He crosses his arms and settles a glare on the monitors. There's a number of things he could say to Jarvis, certain things about how he _expects _invaders to be kept _out, _and how break-ins are no laughing matter when his team might be at stake, but all that is irrelevant as long as Jarvis is convinced that the intruder was not an intruder at all.

And that doesn't even touch the matter of why said intruder isn't appearing on the screens.

"If you let him through the door, Jarvis," Tony says finally, pointing to the screens. "…then _where is he._"

"I don't understand the question, sir."

"_Where _is he?" Tony repeats. "Because I don't see him anywhere on the cameras. There is _no _bright red sleigh. _No _flying reindeer. _No _Rudolph, _no_ magic elves… And _no _jolly, portly, bearded man putting _presents_ _beneath the tree!_"

For a moment, there's silence. Then,

"…And yet, sir," Jarvis says, "There are still presents beneath the tree."

Tony pauses. His eyes glance at the last security camera, rewound to an hour before sunrise. There are indeed several presents there, unaccounted for, with _From Santa_ scrawled across the tags.

"…Fair point, Jarvis," he admits, turning a puzzled glare back to the cameras.

At the beginning of the night, there were no presents beneath the tree. At the end of the night, there were several. If there was no Santa, how did they get there—and, now that he thinks about it—_when? _

Maybe he's been approaching this wrong. Instead of looking for the weak spot in his security, he should be tracking the presents. Find the person who put them there, find the intruder.

"Rewind the tape." Tony orders. "Show me everything that happened after I left the room that night."

Obediently, Jarvis rewinds the tape, his sarcasm gone now that his argument is at least being heard. The recording resets to the previous night, as the Avengers' impromptu Christmas party finally ends and the guests are starting to trail off to bed. Tony watches himself leave the room, followed by Bruce, and finally Clint, who's the last one out, stopping only to have one last word with Thor.

Tony's eye flicker over to the tree. No Santa gifts yet.

Now it's just a game of patience.

Tony crosses his arms over his chest and settles into an unflinching stare at the screen. Time to find his Secret Santa.

Time passes. Expectedly, it's rather uneventful. Except for the first few minutes of watching Thor write (and rewrite—and _re-re_write—) his letter to Santa, the recording is unexciting and bland. It's almost funny when Thor nods off on the couch, granted. But for a good solid hour, there's no movement beyond the demigod's chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Tony keeps his eyes glued to the screen anyway. He's determined to find his answers, even if it demands a few hours of his undivided attention.

So he watches. And he waits.

At the 12:23 mark, Tony unconsciously sits straighter, sharpening his concentration even more for any sign, any change. It's not that he believes Jarvis's story—it's just that, if Jarvis's story has any truth to it at all, the most probable time for the break in is _now. _

And for the first few minutes, nothing seems to happen. Nothing at all. And just as Tony is sitting back, frowning in disappointment—that's when it happens.

A tiny, but sudden, shift. It's the smallest change, and Tony almost doesn't catch it.

But when he does, he wonders if his eyes are deceiving him.

Suddenly, there are presents beneath the tree.

.

* * *

After Christmas cleanup, Thor decides to take advantage of his unexpected bounty of gifts. Bruce helps him with the DVD player so he can watch his new Disney Princess movie collection, and by dinnertime, he's finished Princess and the Frog, Sleeping Beauty, and is halfway through Mulan.

"Enjoying yourself, Thor?" asks Bruce when the Asgardian pops into the kitchen for a late night snack.

"Immensely!" Thor answers, snatching up a plate and helping himself to half the chicken. "The lady reminds me much of Lady Sif, my good friend. A fine warrior who faces scrutiny from others for fighting despite her station and gender. Who knew Midgardians faced such challenges as well?"

Bruce hadn't been aware that Asgard had trouble with misogyny. Even the gods had problems, he supposed.

Instead of voicing his surprise, Bruce just chuckles and laces his fingers. "I never would have thought you'd be interested in Disney, of all things. I wonder whose idea it was to give you that for Christmas?"

"Why, Santa of course!" says Thor.

…Ah_._ _Right_.

Bruce stops a moment to marvel at the fact that no one has corrected Thor on that little misconception. In the end, he decides to let it go. If his teammates have chosen not to spoil things for Thor, then Bruce decides he shouldn't either. Shrugging, he tactfully changes the subject.

"Anyway," he begins, trying to order his thoughts as Thor rummages through the fridge. "If you're taking a break from your movies, do you have a minute? I was actually hoping I could ask you a few questions."

"Questions?" Thor repeats, popping open a pickle jar.

"About Jack Frost," Bruce clarifies. "And about Asgard. Just for—clarification."

Thor pauses, his face twisted in the oddest expression. Finally he turns away, adding more food to his plate. "…Exactly what needs to be clarified about _Asgard_?" he asks, his head disappearing back into the fridge.

"Just a few things," Bruce assures, biting back on the truthful answer: _Everything_. The Norse texts are hardly faithful to their real-life counterparts. There are so many contradictions and mistakes in the Norse texts that Bruce is absolutely brimming with questions. But Thor seems oddly wary of the request, so Bruce decides it would be best to approach the problem slowly.

Again, Thor pauses, his back turned to Bruce. After a moment of thought, he resumes scraping leftovers from the tupperware. "I am sorry—I cannot help you," he says.

Bruce blinks. "Are you sure? It'll only take a minute," he promises. "You can be back to your movie in no time—"

"It is not that," Thor says, apologetic. After dumping the dirty Tupperware into the sink, he fishes a bottle of ale from the cupboards, still not looking at Bruce. "It is the topic that concerns me. I had hoped to keep my mind off the subject for a few days."

Off the subject of…? Bruce frowns. "Is there trouble in Asgard?"

At this, Thor turns around, finally meeting Bruce's worried eyes. "On Asgard? Nay, not on my homeworld. Do not concern yourself—truthfully, it is a matter which even _I _ought to ignore, but—"

Thor's eyes go distant, clouded with a flicker of darkness so worrisome that Bruce wonders if he should warn the others. But before Bruce can ask, Thor just shrugs, takes a swig of his ale, and goes back to dressing his dinner plate with more food.

"I hope you understand," he says, his voice suddenly much lighter. "I simply wish to relax for now. Perhaps we may talk another time?"

Bruce hesitates. He eyes his research, the books and notes spread out before him on the table. His notes—the observations, lists, timelines, and charts he's made to help make sense of the source material—look like a knot of nonsense, or a set of scattered puzzle pieces. It's tantalizing. Something under his skin is itching to put this puzzle back together, to ask all these questions he should've asked when Thor first joined the team. There's just so much he wants to _know_—there's a whole new world out there, and so many new things to learn.

But it's Thor's behavior that stops him. Bruce can count the number of times Thor has been genuinely upset on one hand, and the demigod has _never _seemed this anxious before. Despite his brimming curiosity, Bruce backs down. He can wait a few weeks if he must.

"All right," he says. "…Some other time."

Thor gives a decisive nod, more to himself than to Bruce. "Thank you! I appreciate your patience. Actually, if you wish, you are welcome to join my movie. Mulan is about to march to war, and it is truly exciting!"

Bruce tries to remember how Mulan's storyline goes, and he winces. Thor stopped just before the movie's most heart wrenching scene. That should do wonders for distracting Thor from whatever is bothering him, at least. "Ah, no thank you," he declines. "I'll just… go back to my research, I suppose."

Inwardly, Bruce sighs, picking up the closest book. His eyes sweep over the convoluted bloodlines and family trees, and then his own notes, riddled with names, dates, and lists trying to separate symbolism from fact. What a mess. He'll never figure this all out on his own.

Bruce sets it aside, turning to watch Thor add more food to his plate. Thor is busy turning his late night snack into a ten course meal. Unsurprising, as he missed dinner. He adds leftover mac'n'cheese, asparagus, pineapple, blue jello, tortilla chips, and garlic dip to his plate of chicken and pickles.

Bruce doesn't bat an eye at the odd assortment. Since August, after witnessing Thor make a 'breakfast sandwich' out of bacon and scrambled eggs stuffed between two poptarts, the demigod's eating habits rarely manage to rattle him anymore.

_And what do they eat on Asgard, anyway?_ Another question drifts into his mind. Bruce scowls. He drops the Norse Mythology book onto the table, letting it fall open to a page dedicated to Loki, and he stares at it. There's so many questions he _really shouldn't _ask, but Bruce has never been good at containing his curiosity before.

So when Thor picks up his plate and makes his way for the door, Bruce can't help it. There's one question that has been bothering him all day, one that just cannot go without an answer. Hesitating, he scratches his head, scowls at the book, and asks.

"Did Loki _really _give birth to an eight legged horse?"

Thor chokes and spits out his drink.

Eyes going wide, Bruce's head snaps up to look. Thor, in his surprise, has nearly dropped his plate. In a mad scramble, he dips low for balance then recovers, with only a few bits of pineapple tumbling off the side. All the while, the demigod is coughing, his other hand sloshing alcohol on the kitchen tile as he sways.

Bruce half-rises from his chair. "I—I'm so sorry, I—are you all right?" he asks, turning red. What was he _thinking, _asking a question like that?

Thor's coughing slowly gives way to laughter, and in an instant, he's coming over to the table. "Wherein the nine realms did _that _question come from?" he laughs.

Bruce tries to reign in his emotions and calm himself, pressing his fingertips against his forehead to hide his embarrassment. He stares down at the book laid open on the table, to Loki's obviously-highly-inaccurate family tree. "Just—I'm sorry, just forget I said anything... uh, enjoy your movie—?"

But Thor won't be deterred. He sets his plate aside, plucks the book out from under Bruce's nose, and despite the mortal man's protests, begins to read.

And laugh. Loudly.

"Oh, if Loki were to see this now—" Thor says, then blinks, a broad smile gracing his face. "A fantastic idea! I think I shall take this to him!"

"…Please don't," Bruce begs, head hung low. According to lore, Loki had many, ahem, _colorful _children, including a black wolf, a giant snake, an eight legged horse, and the goddess of the underworld. The absurdity must be off the charts.

Chuckling, Thor looked up. "No wonder you have questions," he says, touting the book. "I have never read a tale so tall!"

"Well, yes, uh," Bruce stammers. "When you mentioned Jokul Frosti last night, I realized I didn't know hardly anything about your culture. I thought I'd read up on Norse Mythology—you and Loki appear in those stories. But it was written over a thousand years ago and… well, obviously there are some... inconsistencies."

"You have a talent for understatement." Thor comments.

"…So I've been told."

Thor regards the book for a moment, then shrugs. "I suppose it is not too inconsistent," he says at last, earning a stare from Bruce. "My father, Odin, does indeed have an eight legged mount named Sleipnir—but he is not—" Thor snorts again, suppressing laughter. "—He is not my brother's _offspring_."

"I'm sorry," Bruce says again, turning even redder. It is lucky that the Hulk is triggered by anger, not by embarrassment. "I knew some details were off, but I'm still trying to separate fact from fiction."

"Are there a lot of strange things written about Loki?" Thor asks, curious.

"Yeah. You too," Bruce says. He opens his notebook to a page he's compiled on Thor. "You were very popular. There are several passages about you. Details concerning who your family is, what your weapons are, who you're married to..."

"—What?"

At this, Bruce stops and looks up. Thor is staring at him, jaw agape.

Bruce fumbles with his words. "Who you're, uh, married to—like a wife, or...?" Thor's vacant, stunned look is answer enough. "—You know what? Nevermind." Bruce fishes out a pen and crosses off numerous lines from his research.

"It says I am _married?_" Thor repeats, stunned.

"Well, yes—"

"…To _whom?_"

"Uh," maybe this was a bad idea. The Norse Myths are starting to look less like inaccurate myths, and more like ancient OTP fanfiction.

"Should I be concerned by your silence?" Thor asks.

"No, no, Thor, It's just that…" He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. "This is just one of those contradictions I told you about. _Most_ of the Norse gods are actually listed with wives… lovers… children…"

"…_Children_?" Thor repeats.

Bruce's response is to blush and snap his notebook closed. "I'm sorry for asking. You said you didn't want to talk about this…"

Thor is already thumbing through the Norse Mythology book, looking for his own page. Bruce sighs, puts his head in his hands, and waits for Thor to find what he's looking for. It's not like he can stop this now.

"Oh!" Upon finding the passage, Thor laughs out loud. "I'm to marry Lady _Sif_?"

"…Please tell me she isn't your sister or something."

"No—she is a good friend. And a fine warrior. But she has never shown a courtly interest in me."

With a quiet laugh, Thor hands the book back. "Thank you for showing me this 'Norse Mythology.'" He says. "Father has mentioned it once or twice, but I've never actually read it before. I do not put much stock in such predictions, but they are entertaining to read."

Bruce accepts the book back, and blinks. "Predictions?"

Thor meets his eyes, and suddenly understands. "Oh—you thought—" he laughs. "Banner, these stories, these myths_—_they never actually happened. They are not my _History._"

"Then what are they?"

"Prophecies."

Bruce does a double take. "…Prophecies?" he asks, incredulous. "Like, divination? Magic?"

"Yes." Thor looks down at the book of Norse Mythology, at the flowing golden text pressed into the leather cover. "You say these were written a thousand years ago—the date seems consistent." He says. "A thousand years ago, my father, Odin, came to Earth to defend it."

"Against what?"

"Jotunheim," Thor says. "The Jotuns—The Frost Giants—they attempted to invade Midgard in the past."

"Invade? Why?" Bruce asks.

"I…" Thor pauses. "I do not know, actually. Father told me the story when I was younger, and I always just assumed the Frost Giants were monsters who need no reason to fight. But there must have been one."

Bruce nods, understanding. "So, you and your father came to Earth, and people wrote stories about you…?"

"I? No." Thor interrupts. "The year, in your world, was 965 AD. I would have been a child at the time, barely old enough to walk. And Loki was an infant. But my Father was old enough—he would have spoken to the native people there. And the mortals who met Odin tried to see his future." He nudges the book. "They wrote it down, and thus, your Mythology is born."

Bruce frowns deeply. He's more than a touch skeptical of 'magic'. Once, he would've scoffed at the idea of accurate magical prophecies. Nowdays he was more open minded, of course—being on a superhero team had that effect, he supposes.

"So if these are prophecies—we could tell the future from them?" Bruce says finally.

Thor sits straighter. "That would be unwise," he warns.

"…I know they're not 100 percent correct," Bruce says carefully. It's quite obvious the stories have gaping plot holes. "But," he continues, "The people who wrote this never met you—yet they knew about Mjolnir, and your lightning, and other things. There's a passage that even warns about Loki's betrayal, and that didn't happen until, what, last year?" Bruce looks at his notes. "If these are prophecies, maybe they can tell us if Loki will escape, or strike again. I, for one, would appreciate the warning."

Thor sighs, scratching his chin. "I know you mean well, but it is a poor idea," he warns again. "My father knew of these mythologies when he hid the Tesseract on Earth. But he raised Loki anyway, because it was right. Prophecies can cause trouble."

Bruce scowls, but doesn't say a word. Thor, sensing his doubt, sighs. "Let me tell you the story my father told me," he bids. "Then you will understand."

"…All right," Bruce says, sitting back.

Thor clears his throat, and begins.

"Long ago," he says. "Before Midgard existed—before even _Asgard _existed, there was a time called The Golden Age."

"In that age, there was a king, from house Lumanoff, named Tsar Lunar. He ruled the Constellation Court with his wife, the Tsarina. It was a time of great prosperity. Their technologies were advanced. Back then, there were many worlds, and travel between them was common. The people were happy, healthy, and flourishing."

"But in this paradise, there was also darkness. Wretched creatures called Fearlings roamed Space, creating havoc, destruction, and terror. They threatened to consume everything. The Tsar Lunar asked for guidance—and the Wizards of the Golden Age looked into the future."

"They made a prophecy," Thor says, pointing to the Norse mythology book. "One much more accurate than these. Back then, they had divination down to an art, an exact science. The Prophecy said: 'To fight the Fearlings, muster a great army, led by Kozmotis Pitchner. He will lead to Victory.' So the Tsar Lunar did just that. He placed the army under Kozmotis' command and sent them off to war."

"…And this Kozmotis guy failed?" Bruce asked.

Thor shook his head. "Nay. Kozmotis Pitchner and his army succeeded. He was a noble, pure man, and fought the darkness with courage. The army marched to every corner of the Universe and captured every wisp of darkness, and imprisoned them. Kozmotis was named the Golden General, and his soldiers were hailed as heroes. But—the Prophecy did not tell what happened next."

Bruce leaned forward, curious.

"The Constellation Court became complacent. They banished the army in times of peace. General Pitchner, the last soldier, was sent to guard the fearlings' prison, and—the darkness escaped, and corrupted him. The fearlings twisted his soul to become like them. He became a monster named Pitch Black. The Golden General who once led warriors to victory now led an army of evil. He spread destruction and chaos to every planet, every galaxy. And the Golden Age fell."

Thor locked eyes with Bruce. "Pitch hunted down every member of the Constellation Court, until the last battle with the Tsar Lunar. And then—he vanished. My father was born in the Dark Ages, at the end of Pitch's rule. He was but a lad. When Pitch disappeared, Odin gathered the survivors and rebuilt the universe."

"The people of the Golden Age tried to rely on prophecies, and that led to their demise. Asgard has tried to learn from the past. We still use lost technologies from the Golden Age to help promote peace. But—we are wary of misusing Prophecies such as these." Thor taps the Norse Mythology book. "We are aware of them, of course—we all know the story of Ragnarok. We try to learn from those stories… but we do not rely on them."

Bruce nods. Of course they'd know about Ragnarok—a story that began with fimbulvetr and ended with the death of Midgard and Asgard alike. But, after hearing this story, it made sense why Thor and the others didn't follow it too closely.

"You are a good man, Doctor Banner," Thor says. "I do not mean to scold you. I simply wish for you to understand the consequences of relying too much on Prophecies."

"I understand," Bruce says, setting the book and his notes aside. He looks straight at Thor. "And thank you," he says, genuinely. "I know you didn't want to answer questions right now, but you did anyway."

Thor laughs and thrusts himself away from the table, grabbing up his food. "I will tell you more about Asgard soon," he promises. "—The real Asgard, where I am unwed, and Loki does not have a horse for an heir."

Bruce chuckles, blushing slightly. "Ok. In a month or two, then."

"Oh, sooner than that," Thor says.

"…Sooner? I thought you wanted to keep your mind off… things." Bruce still isn't sure what Thor meant by 'things'.

"Yes, at the moment, there's a worrying matter which I cannot do anything to fix. But when—_if—_Jokul Frosti answers my letter, that should change. I need only wait until then."

"Letter—?" Bruce repeats, puzzled. Then he blinks. "Oh, the one you wrote to… Santa."

"Indeed! Hopefully he will find a way to forward my message to the Great Jokul Frosti. I have faith in him—if he can accurately deliver so many presents in one night, surely he can locate the Eternal God of Winter."

"…Ah…" Now Bruce feels slightly ashamed. His and Tony's antics unknowingly got Thor's hopes up. He wrings his hands slightly, wondering if he should tell Thor that Santa is just a Myth on par with the Norse Mythologies, and that the letter likely never made it out of the tower. "Er, what happens if… if your letter don't get an answer?"

Thor sighs, then shrugs. "Then I do not. Jokul is elusive, and he is busy. I will resign myself to the path fate has left me."

Bruce hesitates, caught in indecision. Thor just admitted that, without 'Santa's' help, the letter would never be delivered anyway. Either way, the letter won't reach its destination. Maybe it's better to let Thor hope—but, then again, what if the letter was urgent? Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"…What was in that letter, out of curiosity?" Bruce asks at last.

Thor, halfway to the door, pauses. He doesn't answer right away; he bites into a chip and chews it slowly, stalling.

At last, he answers. "Asgardian business. A… request."

His voice is quiet and subdued—Bruce wonders if he's hit a nerve. He looks over the top of his glasses. "What kind of request?" he asks carefully.

For a long time, Thor just stands, something dark dancing behind his eyes. He's gone perfectly still, consumed in thought, and Bruce cannot imagine what has brought this reaction out in Thor.

At last, Thor frowns and turns away, walking towards the door.

"It was a summons. A call for help," Thor answers quietly as he leaves. "…One that I can only hope will be answered."

* * *

_Side note: The movie 'Thor' creates itself a plothole in the opening scene: Odin says after they defeated the Frost Giants, they immediately went back to their homeworld Asgard, and Odin/Loki/Thor fell into Norse Myths and Legends. But later in the movie, it's shown that Loki is just an infant when the battle ends, and Thor couldn't be much older, so how did they wind up in Norse Mythology? As adults?_

_Seeing as how official Norse Mythology has Thor as a redhead, and Loki is Odin's Brother (not son!) we can just safely assume in Marvel!Verse that the Norse people probably had no idea what they were talking about. _


End file.
